


Like Nicotine

by taugex



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Underage, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 11:58:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11012976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taugex/pseuds/taugex
Summary: He is here for the Batman. For Bruce Wayne. For revenge against the man who marked him as his to protect and then let him die without so much as a fight for vengeance. For the man he wants so badly to forget.He is here to break the bond.





	Like Nicotine

It is raining.

It always seems to be raining in Gotham, though. It has been almost five years since Jason had last set foot in this god forsaken city, and yet nothing appears to have changed. Same cloudy skies, same acidic rain. Same smell of piss and vomit lining the streets. Same hopeless cries and gunshots echoing down cold alleyways. Same bat signal projected against the polluted grey skies, a futile cry for help from a man just as in need of salvation as the rest of this damned city.

Jason brings his cigarette to his lips, inhaling hard as he hunches over himself, one knee raised against the ledge of the rooftop he perches on to overlook the city. He lets the hot smoke fill his lungs, relishes the scent of the burning tobacco and nicotine that seems to engulf him, fill him up in a way he has been denied since he woke up from nonexistence. He holds the smoke in, feeling it burn at the back of his throat. He likes the smoke, the burn and all. His exhale comes with a weak cough. He lets his eyes fall shut as he feels the smoke escape his lungs, smells it as it wraps up and away from his mouth and floats off into the night sky. He follows the puff, his eyes tracing over the skyline, taking in the city he knows he'll always come back to.  

It has been five years.

It was raining that night too. The night he woke up in his own grave. The night he dug himself out with just the belt buckle from the luxury suit they buried him in. The events after he escaped the earth of his grave until he emerged from the Lazarus pit would always be a blur to him--whether it was due to the brain damage or just the sensory overload of going from dead and buried to grasping to life--but he will always, vividly remember waking up in that dark grave. God knows how many times he has relived it in his nightmares. He will always remember the feeling of the walls up close, the smell of the earth mixed with the lingering scent of a campfire that almost tastes like a cigarette.

When he finally had the chance and courage to revisit the memory of that place without it sending him into a cold sweat and a mental breakdown, he realized the significance of that smell. That Bruce had scented his corpse before burying it. He doesn't know what this fact makes him feel, just that it makes his core burn. It makes his chest ache, and that stupid scar on his neck sear. It makes him angry. That Bruce Wayne could just bury him like that, mark his lifeless body with his scent one last time and then forget him. To let his murderer go unpunished while Jason's body was left to rot beneath his feet, the last remnants of his alpha's scent clinging to a used body until it ultimately returned to dust.

He crushes his cigarette against his heel, clicking his tongue as he shakes his head. And that is why he is here, isn't it? He didn't need to come back to Gotham. He could have forgotten this wretched city, could have become what the Bat is supposed to be beyond the iron gates of Gotham. But for the last five years he couldn't shake this. He couldn't shake the emptiness he felt, the deep ache in his chest anytime he saw the Bat in the papers. Couldn't shake the anger he felt when the headlines blared, "JOKER AT LARGE AGAIN". Couldn't shake the betrayal, the _jealousy_ , when he saw the Batman fighting alongside the “Boy Wonder” once again. And more apparent than anything, he can't escape the endless torture he feels every heat he suffers through, the searing pain anytime he dares try to make it through by someone else's hand. That primal desire to be mounted, filled, bred, violated, and made whole—and yet any attempt at fulfilling this need met with complete and utter agony. His hand makes its way to the back of his neck, rubbing at the scar left there as he takes a deep breath. He is here for many reasons.

He is here for one reason.

It has been five years.

He pulls his mask back on in one swift movement, the helmet locking into place with a soft hiss. The Boy Wonder is dead, and the Red Hood rose from his grave. He knows why he is here. To do what the Batman can’t, to control the criminal scum of Gotham, he tells himself. But that isn’t everything, of course. If he is being completely honest with himself, that isn’t even the biggest reason for his return to Gotham. He is here for the Batman. For Bruce Wayne. For revenge against the man who marked him as his to protect and then let him die without so much as a fight for vengeance. For the man he wants so badly to forget.

He is here to break the bond.

If that is even possible, because after all, not even death was able to break their bond. The scent of campfire and nicotine is still the clearest thing Jason remembers from when he awoke six months and six feet under after his death. As he pounded on the coffin’s roof, panic rising in his muddled mind, the only word that left his lips was the cry for Bruce. When he unearthed himself, when he wandered outside the cemetery and into the streets, when he was found and rushed to the hospital, all he could ask for was “Bruce, Bruce,” like some pathetic fucking mantra. When he was drowning in the Lazarus pit, if his words could have been heard they would have known he was begging for Bruce, for his alpha, for his home. When he was chain smoking through his first heat post resurrection, begging to be fucked, Bruce’s name was on his every moan, Jason chasing after his scent with every cigarette. Jason Todd has not forgotten Bruce Wayne. His body will not let him.

As if on cue and right on schedule, Jason senses he is no longer alone. He pauses for a second, taking a deep breath before turning around to see none other than the Dark Knight of Gotham has joined him on the rooftop. The Bat looks the same as ever, broad and dark and powerful. Jason can’t help but just stand there in awe for a second, taking in the sight of the man he begged for so many times, the man he wants to end.

It has been five years.

“Well well well, if it isn’t the big, bad Bat,” Jason drawls with all the confidence he can conjure, cocking his head to the side. He is thankful for the helmet, as he can’t smell the alpha yet, and he hopes he never does. He can’t trust himself not to be engulfed by that smell, by the smoke. “Come to greet the new head of the eastern drug trade in person? Why, I’m honored,” he trudges on, daring to step in closer toward the Batman.

“…Jason?”

Jason freezes, eyes opening wide under the helmet. Can he smell him? He thought the suppressants, the helmet, and the thick layers of Kevlar and leather he wears would mask his scent. No, it definitely should.

“Jason… Is that you?” Batman speaks again, his fake gruff voice beginning to crack, falling back into Bruce Wayne’s calming timber.

“N-no,” Jason forces out, stepping back. He should run. This is not going as planned, and he needs to run. He needs to escape before he is trapped.

“Jason, I can smell you,” Batman continues, his hand reaching up shakily to push back his cowl and oh god, this shouldn’t be happening. The Batman would never take off his cowl in front of a criminal and yet here is Bruce Wayne, looking at Red Hood with the most heart wrenching desperation in his eyes.

“D-don’t,” it is all Jason can force out. This is not how this is supposed to happen. Jason is supposed to taunt the Bat, give him some snark and attitude before disappearing into the night; he's supposed to torture him for the long haul before finally revealing his identity as he gets his final revenge.

Jason’s breathing grows labored under the hood, his heart rate increasing rapidly. Nerves, he tells himself as he stares at Bruce in horror. All Bruce can see is the mask.

“Jason, what happened to you?” Bruce asks, voice cracking as he struggles to keep it steady. Jason never thought he’d ever see it. The day that Bruce Wayne appeared to be falling apart at the seams. The day _Jason_ made Bruce Wayne fall apart. Maybe he can work with this after all.

“I died, Bruce,” Jason replies, voice softer than he intends. He clicks his tongue, trying again. “Was murdered actually, maybe you missed that,” he says, clearer this time, his usual sass emerging as he grounds himself.

“How are you here now,” Bruce says, and it’s not a question. It’s as if it’s five years ago and Jason is Robin and the Bat is demanding a field report.

“Beats me old man, guess there is just some unfinished business I have to take care of and God finally decided to give me a break for once in my life,” Jason chuckles with a shrug. "Only took him until after I was brutally murdered," he adds with a smirk. He hadn’t realized he’d been backing away from Bruce until his legs hit the wall at the edge of the rooftop.

“Jason…” Bruce says again. His voice is so strained, so _desperate_ , like he is damned and Jason is his only hope for salvation. He sounds like Jason did, when he was dying. When he was resurrected. When he was alone.

Bruce is in front of him now, close enough to touch. As steadily as Jason had been backing away Bruce had been coming forward, and now with nowhere else to run, Jason is caught.

Suddenly, Bruce is reaching for his mask, pleading, “It’s you under here, isn’t it?”, that same desperation soaking his words, like this is all a horrible dream—horrible only because he will wake up alone again.

“Don’t—” Jason’s voice cuts sharp as a knife, his hand wrapping around Bruce’s gauntleted wrist to stop him before he makes contact. “Don’t take it off, don’t _touch_ me,” he begs, his voice too vulnerable, mirroring Bruce’s desperation. But what he is desperate for he isn’t sure.

Bruce pushes Jason’s hand aside with ease—not that Jason was putting up much resistance—one leg stepping between Jason’s own and completely invading Jason’s space. Under the mask Jason’s eyes are blown wide, his legs beginning to shake. He needs to get away. He shouldn’t have come back here. He needs to go—

He needs Bruce to touch him.

“Jason,” Bruce breathes once again, his voice husky and raw and fucking intoxicating as he leans in close to Jason. Jason is taller than Bruce now. Just by a couple centimeters, but Jason never thought it was possible. That he could outgrow someone so big.

“Jason,” Bruce repeats, his nose buried in the crook of Jason’s neck, inhaling deeply and oh god Jason can smell it now. It smells like campfires, like cigarettes, like addiction. His whole body is shaking now, his hands pressed up against Bruce’s huge fucking chest, trying in vain to push him away. Bruce has a grip on his biceps that keeps him trapped in place, the alpha's scent invading his senses, filling him up and surrounding him until he can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t live without it.

Bruce is scenting him now, his mouth latching onto the sensitive skin of his scent gland and sucking hard before biting down, sending a shiver straight down Jason’s body and igniting a fire in his stomach. He releases, taking another deep whiff before pushing forward with a grunt, rubbing his own glands against Jason’s, soaking his scent into Jason’s clothes, into Jason’s very skin. A moan escapes Jason’s lips but he stifles it quickly with a stuttered breath. He’s no longer pushing Bruce away, but instead grasping onto him. He fears he will fall otherwise. Maybe he’s already fallen.

In Jason’s distraction, Bruce has already removed his own gloves, his hands bare and moving across Jason’s body, fumbling with his belts. Jason’s face is on fire, his entire body burning. He knows this sensation. He’s going into heat. It’s impossible, his last heat was just _two weeks_ ago. But there is no doubt about it, no denying the burn coursing through his veins, the way his insides are begging to be filled. The only thought blaring like a siren in his mind is getting Bruce’s knot to plug him up and split him open. His alpha is finally here, finally in his reach and his body is reacting by going into heat. He melts like putty in Bruce’s embrace, head lolling back to allow Bruce the room to completely drench him in his scent.

“B--!” Jason gasps, Bruce’s left hand having traveled down to the seat of his pants.

“Jayse, you’re soaking,” Bruce growls, biting at Jason’s glands once more as his hand slips into the back of Jason’s pants. Jason’s moan is staggered and desperate as Bruce’s thick finger glides through the slick, tracing the rim of his wet asshole.

Jason needs it. Needs Bruce’s thick cock, his _knot_ to fuck into him, fuck him wide open and fill him up with his seed. He’s needed this for five years. He’s needed it every heat since he came back to life, every miserable waking hour his body screamed in protest against him, begging for the touch of his alpha who had no idea he was suffering like this, that he was even alive.

Jason tries to breathe but all he inhales is Bruce’s heavy scent. It’s intoxicating. It blurs his mind, makes it impossible to think. He’s completely addicted to the scent, the smell like nicotine, and he was a fool to think he could ever ignore this. He never wants this scent to leave his lungs.

He wants to be completely engulfed, wants his very being to dissolve into his alpha’s aura. The slick is fucking _dripping_ from Jason’s asshole, and Bruce is pushing his finger in but god it’s not enough, never enough. He needs to be filled, ripped open, _reclaimed_.

“B, _please_ ,” Jason gasps, rocking back against his finger, rock hard cock rutting against Bruce’s thigh. His eyes shut tight in ecstasy for but a moment before the words “JOKER AT LARGE AGAIN” are blaring in his mind’s eye. His eyes jolt open, his entire body jerking violently, dislodging Bruce’s finger.

“Jay?” Bruce questions, his words laced in concern, his own breathing labored at this point. His grip on Jason tightens as if afraid to lose him once again.

Jason fumbles around his belt and in a second he has a gun in his hand and pressed up against Bruce’s torso. Before Bruce can even process what is happening, the gunshot rips through the air, a cruel punctuation marking the abrupt end to the pair’s reunion. Bruce lets out a strangled gasp, clutching at his side and falling to his knees. Jason is left standing uneasy, and does not hesitate to get as far away as he can from Bruce.

“Catch you later, Bats,” Jason tries to taunt before he's gone, but his voice is shaky and on the verge of breaking, his lungs out of breath and choking on the scent of burning. He swallows it down, exhaling before shooting a grapple and swinging away, crashing into a window of the adjacent building. He limps away, body still weak and shaking from the shock of heat. He does not look back.

Bruce is left crouching on the roof, his hand pressed hard against the gunshot. He looks down at the wound, assessing the damage. He already knows the wound is not serious, knows he can still chase after Jason. But he chooses to stay.

The bullet passed through cleanly, no vital organs hit. It was shot with precision, to distract and hurt but not kill. Bruce clings to this fact later when he’s getting stitched up.

It has been five years.

And he’s lost him all over again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for making it to the end of this! I can't believe I finally finished something, and of course it's ABO. I haven't published a fanfic since high school. Please be gentle.
> 
> This looks like it will be around 5 chapters, will update tags and warnings accordingly with each chapter. I know, multi chapter and no sex first chapter, I'm surprised too. Please look forward to Jason getting help from a certain red headed friend next.  ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°


End file.
